While You Were Gone
by xilvrin
Summary: Virgil/Static has gone missing. Richie/Gear is distraught without him. Based on the "Static Shock" cartoon AND the "Teen Titans" comics with Static in them .
1. Chapter 1

**While You Were Gone**

By Xilvrin

Fandom: Static Shock

Rating: pg-13

Pairing: Richie hearts Virgil (one-sided slash)

Disclaimer: _I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock or DC comics, they belong to their specific creators/DC/Warner Bros. I make no profit, this is only fanfic for fun. _

Author's Note: _This takes place AFTER the last episode of the Static Shock cartoon and is based on the entire series and Static's appearance in DC comics from 2009 onward (in issues of TerrorTitans, TeenTitans, and crossovers)._

**Chapter 1**

**Day 1**

One day without Virgil was not unusual.

There was a time when Richie would call his best friend multiple times a day (Sharon, his best friend's older sister, had tallied the maximum at 17). They saw eachother walking to junior high and high school. They saw eachother during and inbetween classes, and after school. They'd first bonded as two nerds avoiding the bullies. Hours upon hours were spent competing in videogames, discussing comic books, and watching cheesy horror movies whilst scarfing down junkfood.

Then the "big bang" happened. Not the forming of the universe (though in retrospect, Richie supposed that was an important event as well), rather, the leak of experimental gas that leaked during a gang rumble at the docks. A mash-up that Virgil had foolishly been there for… Richie sometimes wondered how his friend would have turned out if he hadn't been there to lean on. Would he have really fallen in with the gangs? Would V keep piling up debts to one tough guy in order to protect himself from the other tough guys, pushing him to do things he really didn't want to and shouldn't do? Would he become the very thing that his parents fought so hard to keep out of the community? Virgil had called him almost immediately for advice…

And had him meet him at a junkyard, eager to show off his newly gained electrical superpowers. From that point forward after school activities included designing a costume for Virgil's alter-ego 'Static', strategizing on how to deal with petty thieves, evil corporations, gangs (some of which also gained super-powers from the bang-gas, others who didn't), saving helpless citizens, and occasionally scuffling with/counseling a fellow student steered down the wrong path (sometimes super-powered, sometimes not).

There was a point at which the advice and attention became unwanted instead of begged for, at which over-familiarity bred contempt. You need to give a man his space to stay on his good side.

So no, one day without any contact with his dreadlocked other-half was not unusual.

**Day 2**

Two days without contact with Virgil wasn't unheard of.

There were entire weekends Virgil liked to take for himself. Sometimes it was because he was plain tuckered out… a week full of tests, homework, and being Dakota's headlining hero left him with four hours of sleep or less (not doctor recommended) a night. Richie wanted to see his friend change the world for the better, and having his grades slip or putting himself at risk in the middle of feats of heroics due to being dog-tired simply wouldn't do. Static deserved some shuteye.

Then there were the OTHER weekends… the weekends Virgil chased after pretty things in skirts. Richie was not fond of those, having no interest in girls himself. He could fake it with the best of them, though. He'd come up with what he believed to be an ingenious plan. All he had to do was act like a total perv. For example, bringing binoculars to the girls' swim meets and making lewd comments. Doing things like this ensured two things: one, that no dudes would doubt his 'straightness' (ha) and two, that the females in question would be too disgusted to ever show interest back.

The ones he was really interested in, of course, were the guys. One guy in particular.

Oh, he could kick himself for ever suggesting Virgil try to hook up with Daisy. He tried to be supportive, but was comfortable in the knowledge that his friend always struck out. His attempts at wooing Frieda, Miss Popularity, were always fruitless. Virgil was unlucky in love… until, of course, he wasn't. Richie tried not to think about his crush and Daisy (or girl of the moment) enjoying themselves at a concert, holding hands on a long walk along the shore, kissing in the dark of a movie theater, or whatever else they could be up to. Richie would be shut out those plans, because third wheel was not a position he liked playing anymore.

At least Virgil had never told Daisy about his secret identity. Only Richie, Pops, and Batman knew (Batman always knows… EVERYTHING. He's BATMAN). Sharon also knew… but Sharon was nosy and despite many attempts over the years to throw her off from connecting Static to her brother, she'd figured it out.

The constant break-ups between Virgil and Daisy would also be reassuring to him that the couple was not meant to be, if only they weren't followed by make-ups. Worse was that Daisy knew- she KNEW about Richie's more-than-friends feelings for Virgil. She'd guessed it right away. Virgil may have been oblivious, but girls could pick up on these sorts of things.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I really am… but it can't be helped if he's not gay… and you… are…" she'd patted his shoulder awkwardly as they stood by a row of lockers. He'd given the most evil glare he could muster. It worked because she backed off. She'd whispered it, so it was out of earshot from the other students passing by. Nor had she later told anyone else (and that was a major fear, considering how teenage girls liked to gossip) so there was that… he could keep himself from strangulating her (not that he would, it was just an expression. 'Strangulating_'_ isn't even a real word).

Every so often he'd fantasize that she'd develop bang-baby powers and turn to the wrong side of the law so he could have the satisfaction of tying her up in a zap trap and watch her being carted off in a paddy wagon.

But two days without Virgil were not unheard of.

**Day 3**

3 days without Virgil… Richie tried contacting him on the shock vox (their suped-up walkie-talkies). There was no response… not simply no response, but as Backpack (Richie's faithful surveillance robot) revealed, NO SIGNAL. Being out of range wasn't a question; Static once used his power to boost the signal all the way from a family vacation to Africa in the middle of the night (in his timezone) to talk to Richie because he couldn't sleep. Also to tell him about the amazing discovery that there were black people in Africa and that he'd finally found where he belonged and now knew how Richie felt to be white. Right. The comment had rubbed Richie entirely the wrong way, because it was hard to think of anyone more typically American than Virgil, nor did he appreciate the subtle hints that he may have inherited any of the unfortunate racist tendencies of his father. He shrugged it off and chalked it up to jetlag on his friend's part. Or stupidity. Or all of the above.

Sometimes Virgil could make Richie's list of people to strangulate (but only lightly, as deep down he loved him).

Had he broken the shock vox? Dropped it, shorted it out, melted it? Was it lying at the bottom of the ocean, or perhaps died of stink underneath used gym socks in the mess that Virgil called a bedroom?

Richie sighed. He wasn't going to mother-hen him. He would not worry. He would have faith in Static.

**Day 4**

Richie, suited up in a skin-tight green and white outfit, rollerblades, and a visored helmet as 'GEAR' and went on patrol alone. He was able to assist the police in subduing some second-generation bang-babies who were knocking over a convenience store. Literally. Bricks, mortar, and glass, everywhere.

"Seriously, guys? You decide to go all super-villain, and this is what first occurs to you? Not the sharpest tacks, are you?" He had to shake his head.

There may have been a cure for the mutations the bang gas caused sprayed around the city only a few weeks ago, but an explosion set off by Hotstreak and Ebon had caused a whole new set of hooligans (and some repeat offenders) to mutate again. It would be a while before the effect wore off. In the meantime, Richie used all his super-smarts and chemistry skills to make both he and Virgil's powers permanent. As well as having to come up with a formula that would detangle the HotBon or EbHo or any disturbingly named disturbing combination of Hotstreak and Ebon who had turned into one large animalistic-minded shadowy blob that spewed fire after being caught in the center of the previously mentioned gas explosion. That task had not been pleasant, in the least.

Under his breath he mumbled, "Static, where the H-E-double-hockey-sticks ARE YOU?"

He tried skating by the Hawkin's household. The lights in Virgil's room weren't on.

4 days: No Virgil, no Static. Tomorrow, he would start asking around.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: While You Were Gone chapter 2  
Author: Xilvrin  
Rating: pg-13  
Pairing: Richie hearts Virgil  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock or DC comics, they belong to their specific creators/DC/Warner Bros. I make no profit, this is only fanfic for fun.

Authors Note: _This takes place AFTER the last episode of the Static Shock cartoon and is based on the entire series and Static's appearance in DC comics from 2009 onward (in issues of TerrorTitans, TeenTitans, and crossovers)._

**Chapter 2**

Day 5

Five days without Virgil was worrying.

"Was it something I said? Did?" Richie fretted.

They often got into little fights over misunderstandings and stupid things and ended up avoiding eachother for a while. Richie couldn't recall anything that might have set Virgil off, however. The last he'd seen him, everything seemed fine. They'd been at their hideout, the Abandoned Gas Station, changing out of their Static and Gear costumes and into civilian clothes. They'd packed up for the night and waved eachother off with a smile and a "Cya".

"Whether you want to hear from me or not, you're going to, because I want to know what's up," the bespectacled blonde said to his airplane-themed light blue room. It suddenly occurred to him, '_I haven't redecorated since I was EIGHT_'.

Another corner of his brain piped up, '_That was a really fruity thought, stop that_.'

"Good thing I didn't say that outloud… OK, way too much time to myself…. Going crazy… Need friend… to NOT sound… so CRAZY," he did his best Shatner impression to an invisible audience.

He picked up the phone on his bedside table and dialed Virgil's number.

Sharon answered. "I thought he was with you."

"No 'hello'? How did you know it was me?"

"Who ELSE would it be?"

"Wait, he's not there?" panic peppered his voice.

"Maybe this is one of those things where Superman takes him up to that space-station for some secret mission," she didn't sound so sure of this.

"Yeah…that's gotta be it."

"He better get his scrawny ass back soon -in one piece- or I'm kicking it all the way to the moon!"

"You and me both."

Nervous laughter on both ends of the line.

"I'll tell him you called. Then tell him I am NOT his secretary, or his maid, for the LAST time."

"Thanks sis, bye."

"I'm not your… oh, whatever." Click.

Calls to Frieda, Daisy, and to anyone else they'd had a positive interaction with in Dakota yielded similar results.

Now he was WORRIED.

**Day 6**

Part of Richie hoped Static was bumping elbows with the superstars in the world-saving business.

Another part of him was insanely jealous.

No matter how many times he insisted they were partners (_oh, if only that were true in more ways than one_), EQUALS… he would still be viewed as that dreaded word: SIDEKICK. He'd had one crowning moment of awesome: the very first time he'd become Gear (or the prototype thereof). Finally, he'd been the one to rescue Static instead of the other way around. That hadn't lasted… he'd hoped things would change but not long after he'd put together a proper costume it was right back to being the 'damsel in distress'.

He'd scouted out their most excellent hideout. He'd designed Static's gadgets and collapsible flying disc. He'd been his hype-man, arranging public relations boosters like ribbon cutting on new buildings and parks, Christmas tree lightning, and more. He'd set up a website with forums to interact with their fans. He'd printed up business cards and handed them out to any cops, firemen, or government officials they happened to meet. He'd done all that without so much as a THANK YOU. No, more often than not his actions made Static roll his eyes.

The city's ne'r-do-wells didn't take him seriously without Static by his side. The Big Name heroes certainly didn't. Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern and the like couldn't care less whether he lived or died without Static's intervention. Superman had been kind to him, but Superman was a bit more magnanimous (a grown-up boyscout in tights in a cape). Batman... hates everybody (He's BATMAN).

They weren't pleased when he'd tagged along when they only wanted Static... and ended up not only freeing Brainiac but being possessed by the entity. '_It's not like that's what I wanted to happen either._' They didn't want him to touch anything and in their minds they were right. He'd asked for a group photo when the whole ordeal was over, acting as much like a fanboy as before. An act, and act, so much was an act. Martain Manhunter had scanned his head searching for traces of Brainiac, not for any traces of animosity for considering him part of the problem rather than solely a victim.

"Sacrifice One To Save The Many. Sorry, I still prefer Sta ... OUR way: Sacrifice Nobody, Save Everybody."

Backpack beeped in agreement from its hiding place under the bed. S.N.S.E. was one of the commands he'd programmed into it.

He'd had to shut it down and remove the batteries after the Brainiac incident out of paranoia. He didn't reactivate it until several days later. He'd smiled and joked and pretended he was fine. He wasn't. He was the furthest thing from 'Fine'. He wanted to forget it all and pretend everything was normal as soon as possible.

If Madelyn digging around in his private memories and daydreams (embarrassingly entirely of Virgil and Static) and turning him into a virtual zombie to make herself queen of the school shook him up... what Brainiac did was a calamity. Invading his mind and body, using it like a puppet, and tormenting him through various means. Weakening his resolve mentally through waking nightmares and physically by not eating or bathing. At one point, Brainiac considered converting him to a cyborg, as soft human tissue was obviously inferior to circuits and steel. As cutting into said flesh hurt them both as long as Brainy deemed his noggin home, it settled for confining him in metal jointed tentacles within a robotic shell.

He tried to think of a worse fate then being trapped in your own body, unable to control it, violated in every which way, barely able to speak, while you watch everything you have ever known or held dear destroyed... but no, there wasn't one.

Previous to that, he hated all the emotions he had concerning Virgil. How much simpler it would be to be a machine, to think in ones and zeroes and absolutes. To not feel any more confusion, love, lust, frustration, anger, betrayal, or sadness in regards to his honorary 'brother'. Yet seeing Virgil in front of him, trying to get through to him stirred up enough willpower to break Brainiac's 'spell' on him (if only temporarily before he was reeled back in). There are some things that can never be sorted out by logic, can never be reduced to raw data.

At the same time, it had crushed a dream. If there had been any instance that would have pushed Virgil to a romantic confession that would have been it. The entire Earth had nearly been annihilated. Richie was at the center of the catastrophe. Static was the only one with the will and wit and way to rescue him. There was no "I love you", no "I couldn't go on living without you"… no, there was instead some joking criticism over the upkeep of their headquarters (how Virgil could never find where Richie had filed anything away in the organized chaos) and some minor quibble over a borrowed CD.

"The power of friendship INDEED," Richie huffed. "I'm not UNGRATEFUL to have him as a friend, and I know I've taken as many jabs at him as he does at me and we don't really anything mean by it but…" He knew he was only talking to Backpack at this point, but didn't care. "Madelyn saw… saw how I wished Static would fly down from the clear blue sky and smile at ME, just for me. Offer his hand to me so he could take me flying… and being Gear gave me that. I could be up there with him. Is asking for more asking too much?"

A blip, whine, and whir from Backpack were the equivalent of a magic-8-ball's 'Unclear. Please try again'.

"Thanks buddy, you're a BIG help."

The four-legged one-eyed tin can spider beeped and wiggled happily. Richie hadn't installed a sarcasm detector yet in his pet contraption.

"But what if… what if some super villain has him in their clutches and I'm the only one can decipher the clues to save him?"

Backpack skittered from by his feet, up the sheet, and was getting ready for action when Richie put up a hand to stop it.

"Not yet. One more phone call to make." He dialed the number and crossed his fingers that it would still be in service and that he wouldn't get an answering machine or voicemail. "To the sleuth of all sleuths."

Ring… ring… ring… ring… (_Please… please… please… please…_)

"Hello?" came a gravelly, deadpan voice.

"Hi! Batman? This is GEAR! From Dakota," Richie said a tad too enthusiastically. "I don't know if you remember me. I helped you fix a time-machine once. In order to get Static back from the future. Actually, that's why I'm calling. I know you said only to call you in an absolute emergency, and this is. Is static with you? You know, teenager, dreads that stick up everywhere, flies on a disc, goggles, white mask, blue black and yellow costume with a coat and a lightning bolt emblem on his shirt, annoys you by never shutting up…" (silence) "Or do you know where he could be? What he's working on or if he's working with any other heroes or if…"

"NO."

"Oh… sorry to bother you then."

CLICK.

"Damn."

He ran his fingers through his short, spiky hair, racking his brain.

"I can double check… but I don't think it would be Alva Industries. We've made our peace with old man Alva, and have run out of disgruntled employees and relatives. Ebon would be a likely suspect. But after the split with Hotstreak, he got as far away from him as he could. Which means straight out of the city… I theorize… no one's seen him since, but he IS a living shadow. Hotstreak? Too dumb. And the last time we couldn't handle him was pre-powers in junior high." He winced at the memory of the black eyes and bruises, being shoved into lockers, lunch money stolen, the name-calling… and the list went on. "Madelyn and AquaMaria are de-powered. Who else would have a vendetta to try to kidnap… or take him out?"

"If it was one of Gotham's… like the Joker… Batman would have said something. If it was someone from further away, there would be a Big Name tracking them or out-of-the-ordinary crimes taking place and I haven't seen any sign of that either. Other than Static disappearing, that is." He fell backwards onto his oversized bed and stared at the ceiling. "To think someone lower down on the outlaw totem pole got to him is, frankly, insulting." Backpack curled up next to him, much like a cat but far less cuddly. "No choice but to make a sweep of the city and go through them one by one. Let's see, we'll need police records, satellite and security camera surveillance, maps, blueprints of all the locations and structures, a thermal imaging device…"

"Richie, dinner!" His mother's voice beckoned from the kitchen downstairs.

"I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT! ONE MINUTE!"

His father bellowed in response, "YOUR MOTHER SLAVED OVER A HOT STOVE. STOP BEING RUDE AND DOWN HERE AND EAT. AND BE PLEASANT. I HAD A HARD DAY AT WORK, WHAT DID YOU DO ALL DAY? YOU DON'T KNOW HOW EASY YOU HAVE IT. THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS SHOW SOME RESPECT, YOU LAZY SPOILED BRAT."

"ALL RIGHT! I'M COMING!" He added under his breath, "Like you're ever pleasant. If you only knew the work I did. How many actual bombs did you defuse today, Dad? Because I do that on a regular basis. Fffff…" the younger Foley took one last woeful look at Backpack and headed to the table.

**Day 7**

Mr. Hawkins walked from neighborhood to neighborhood, stapling "Have You Seen Me?" posters of his lost boy to telephones poles and tacking them up to any bulletin boards of small businesses that would let him.

Gear, similarly, searched desperately for the missing Static.

Both knew they were seeking out the same person.

Author's note 2: _Next chapter will be in Virgil's point-of-view. I realize that most of the cartoon fans haven't read "Terror Titans", so I'll be re-writing that 6-issue comic but solely from Virgil's viewpoint and only as one chapter. So even if you have read them, it won't be too redundant._


	3. Chapter 3

Title: While You Were Gone  
Author: Xilvrin  
Rating: pg-13  
Pairing: None for this chapter (unless you count Static looking at girls)  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock or DC comics, they belong to their specific creators/DC/Warner Bros. I make no profit, this is only fanfic for fun.

**Chapter 3**

1 MONTH SINCE STATIC WENT MISSING

A heavy downpour revealed an object that had been shallowly buried in the mud of a ditch on the side of the road just outside of Dakota's city limits. The yellow and black stripes, in the style of caution tape, gave it away. Gear fished out the Shock Vox. He now knew why it had no signal. A gash in the middle rendered it useless… the plastic bubbled up, the metal melted, the circuits fried.

Back at 'The Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude', where the moniker had taken on a literal meaning these days without the chatter of his best friend, he ran the Shock Vox through a full C.S.I. analysis. He'd catalogued each bang-bay's power type, level, and the kind of damage they usually caused. There was no exact match. The shape of the indentation was that of an axe, but axes don't melt what they cleave. Shiv, perhaps? He could form a variety of weapons. But no, this wasn't his energy signature. This was RADIOACTIVE.

"What kind of trouble did you get yourself into, Bro?"

There were search parties with blood hounds through fields and forests, divers through the lake and local rivers, but no body was found. Whomever Static had been fighting, he followed or had been kidnapped by them.

**1 MONTH AGO…**

Virgil Hawkins, a.k.a. 'Static Shock', was having a delightful day, as days went. Granted, it was only 6 AM. He was out on an early morning patrol before school. Not that there were many felonies at this hour, mostly traffic jams if anything, it was really just an excuse to fly up against the pastel colors of the dawn. He enjoyed the feeling of the breeze through his hair. It made his coat blow out behind him, enough like a cape to suit his tastes. The sun of the new day sparkled off the glass of the skyscrapers and warmed his dark skin.

Life was good.

He stopped to rest on the gigantic minute hand of the city's tallest clock tower. It was his and Gear's favorite break spot. It offered excellent views of the city day or night.

"No major crisis*. The people go about their business. You wouldn't know it to look at it that this was the same city that had those riot almost a decade ago. Yep, a job well done if I say so myself." And he did say so, smugly.

A white card stuck in the spoke caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He scooted down the minute hand and plucked it out. It was addressed to HIM.

"An invitation from the Titans?" Batman did say I'd meet them some day. No invite for Gear, though… hrmmm…" He pondered this "Well, no harm checking it out, right? Could say 'hi', shake a few hands, take a tour. Networking." He nodded to himself. "Man, I KNOW how he's gonna react. I know he'll think it's a raw deal, but maybe he's better off stayin' here…" More than half of their quarrels were over him telling his friend to stay put. "I'm not telling him not to fly too high because or to watch out because I don't think he has the ability, it's because I don't want him to get hurt." But whenever he tried to explain that, the words never came out right and Richie/Gear would take offense. "He should just KNOW that by now… I don't take losing people I care about very well…" 

He stuffed the card into his pocket.

"No way I can tell him. If his got lost in the mail, I can always get a hold of him. If not… well, I won't be gone long."

**THAT NIGHT**

Storm clouds gathered overhead. That should have been his first sign. Water was his kryptonite. It wasn't information he shared. The pitter-patter of rain hit his hood. Gear had weather-proofed the costume as much as allowed with in confines of current innovations. Static was usually an optimist and was more concerned that he wouldn't be able to show off and prove to them that he was indeed STATIC, rather than thinking he'd need protection.

In the middle of an empty field was a sight he couldn't possibly miss: a blonde girl with her hair back in a ponytail, a shiny pink bathingsuit of a costume, knee-high boots to match, and the kind of curves you only saw on women on the cover of a men's magazine. She waved to him, the lower half of both arms engulfed in jumbo glowing pink fistigons. He flew closer and jumped off his disc, folding it neatly into a triangle and putting it in his pocket.

"Heyyy…" he should have been focused on her eyes, which were hidden behind the kind of mask robin wore only in that same hot pink. His eyes wandered to the distinct lack of cloth in the cleavage area.

"Hey yourself." Oooh, he LIKED her.

"So, uh, you're a Titan?" His tongue nearly forgot how to talk. Damn hormones.

"Sure am. Disruptor." She hit him with an energy discharge from her fistigons. "A TERROR TITAN!"

He was knocked backwards. "Whu…?"

The silhouettes of the three other Terror Titans strolled out of a lime-green shimmer in the air behind her. There was a big body-builder of a guy in mostly dark blue with gold embellishments including gold sunglasses and lightning bolt insignias. 'Copyright infringement,' Static thought, trying to get to his feet. He was tripped by the reptilian tail of a lithe man in a cobra costume.

He still didn't feel as threatened as he should have been at that point. He was more embarrassed than anything. 'Man, Rich'll never let me hear the end of this. Tricked by my own ego and a pair of boobs, jumped by a bunch of freaks.' He reached for the Shock Vox dangling from his belt loop to radio for backup. 4 on 1 wasn't fair odds. 4 on 2 wouldn't be much better, but it was an improvement.

Before he could say a word to his partner, the last Terror Titan stepped over him. The fourth member was the most intimidating. Not the outfit so much…( a mismatch of brown army boots, navy Capri pants with a chunky rivet studded leather belt and a tight midriff bearing jacket), it was more the metal executioner mask clamped to her face with only two holes for her eyes and a slit for her mouth. She swung down a glowing blue atomic axe, effectively destroying his communicator.

He stared up her expressionless visage for a second that felt more like hours before it occurred to him, 'Metal! I can flip her on her head!' Current emitted from his fingers began to bend her over against her will.

Her three teammates proceeded to kick the ever-living crap out of him. You can't expect baddies NOT to fight dirty.

**AN UNDETERMINED TIME, AN UNDETERMINED PLACE**

Static woke up with a splitting headache.

"FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. COMPASSION IS CRUELTY. EVERYTHING IS DARK SIDE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. COMPASSION IS CRUELTY. EVERYTHING IS DARK SIDE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. COMPASSION IS CRUELTY. EVERYTHING IS DARK SIDE. FREEDOM IS SLAVERY. COMPASSION IS CRUELTY. EVERYTHING IS DARK SIDE." The three phrases were on an endless loop. He couldn't pinpoint the location of the speakers. The sound came from all directions.

One stone wall of the cell (he quickly realized it WAS a cell) was plastered with TVs. Normally he would have found that cool (if they were perhaps broadcasting The Superbowl). These TVs projected images of war, violence, faces of men and women whose identities were a mystery to him, and psychedelic nightmares (such as distorted children's characters and seizure-inducing flashing patterns).

"What, are you trying to CLOCKWORK-ORANGE me?! Ain't gonna work!" he shouted over the mantras of his captors. Though sore and bruised, he got up and paced every inch of the square room. He tested every crack, looking for a sign of weakness. There didn't seem to be one. The TVs weren't hooked into anything. The door, a heavy STEEL door, should be the obvious choice. There was some force-field around it- magic or technological- he couldn't be sure.

A fat woman appeared on one of the screens (with an uncanny resemblance to a lunch lady from his old elementary school) dressed as a sad attempt at gangsta (a grey hoodie, sideways cap, and gaudy medallion on a chain) announcing, "Greetings from Granny Goodness. My child, won't you fight for me? Won't you show granny your loyalty? Make the ultimate sacrifice…"

He cocked one eyebrow. "Yeah, I don't THINK so."

The TVs he could destroy with his power and did. The glass blew and shattered outwards with a dazzling waterfall of sparks. The husks of the machines smoked… then nothing. Silence.

Deafening silence and darkness.

He flicked his powers on and off. Played a riveting set of tic-tac-toe with and against himself (and won and lost).

Time passed. It was hard to tell how much time.

This was the worst of prisons. No food, no water… no bed, NO BATHROOM.

No idea where he was…. Or why… or who did this to him…

He'd sit, he's think too much, far too much. He'd get up, pace, run, bang on the door, yell…

"WHO ARE YOU?! LET ME OUT! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE!"

Then sit back down again.

After who-knows-how-long, there were two men's voices outside the door. Through a tiny window in the door, he could see them. One (the boss) was a blad headed large and imposing African-American in fine suit. The other was a scrawny pasty fellow with shoulder length blonde hair in a tan trenchcoat. The second man wore round glasses with a second and minute hand painted on the lenses in a permanent 3 o'clock.

"Feisty, isn't he?" grinned the skinny one.

"Maybe TOO defiant… Clock King, are you sure you get him under control?" The boss folded his hands behind his back.

"Most certainly. He'll be a fine addition to your club."

**AFTER ANOTHER UNKNOWN STRETCH OF TIME**

When he woke up again, fireballs were being hurled at his head.

'Hotstreak' was his immediate instinct. He lashed out with an arc of electricity.

A distinctly non-male scream reached his ears. 'What poor girl did he take hostage now?!' His vision was still fuzzy. The scene slowly came into focus.

Hotstreak was nowhere in sight. He was in an arena… the kind bullfights were held in, with stadium seating in an oval and a dirt stage dotted with empty oil barrels. Yet, they were also underground. It was a packed house. Some of the crowd was cheering. Others were booing.

He was hovering over the girl, the one who screamed. She was twitching, sprawled out on the dirt, but alive. She'd been a girl with boyish short hair, street clothes, no one he recognized…

A sports commentator announced, "STATIC VS. FEVER. FEVER IS DOWN FOR THE COUNT. STATIC WINS."

"Wait… I did this… what the..." It had to be a nightmare, it had to be.

The audience heckled him. "Go for the kill!" "FINISH HER!"

Fever, whoever she was, couldn't be the bad guy here. Even if she was, murder was NOT his thing. He went to her side to protect her from the angry mob.

The audience turned their attention to a portly old man in a toga. "What will chairman Vundabaar decide? Will it be Mercy? Or Death?" The set-up was like the Roman coliseum of old, with teenaged heroes and sidekicks instead of gladiators and lions. Chairman Vundabaar gave the thumbs-up. The contestants' lives were spared- FOR NOW.

Fever was mumbling something. Static knelt down to hear.

"Must sacrifice to show love... for Granny…"

At that moment, both fighters were shot with tranquilizer darts and subdued.

Author's note 3: _I guess it will take more than one chapter to cover 'Terror Titans'. Actually, the events here were more connected to "Teen Titans: On the Clock" graphic novel. In it, KidDevil and MissMartian are captured by the Terror Titans and meet Fever, who says she's not sure how long she's been there, but vaguely remembers being beaten in the ring by someone with electrical powers. Static himself doesn't appear in person until the middle of TerrorTitans, he's only allusioned to._

_*= the irony of the "no major crisis" line is that at the time this story starts, an event called "Final Crisis" was going on in DC comics. I tried reading it and didn't understand a bloody thing about it. So I'm not having it affect the story._

_To be continued in chapter 4. _


	4. Chapter 4

Title: While You Were Gone  
Author: Xilvrin  
Rating: R for this chapter for VIOLENCE and DARK THEMES, a few semi-censored swears  
Pairing: Richie misses Virgil. Virgil misses Richie too, but not in the same way.  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock or DC comics, they belong to their specific creators/DC/Warner Bros. I make no profit, this is only fanfic for fun.

**Chapter 4**

2 MONTHS SINCE STATIC WENT MISSING

Gear, 20 feet in the air to the glassy side of a skyscraper, dodged another flare. 'Why couldn't he have gone into exile like Ebon, the ungrateful…!'

"WHERE'S YOUR BOYFRIEND, ROLLERBOY?" Hotstreak may not be an Einstein, but he sure knew how to push all the right (wrong) buttons. A new and improved zap trap was lobbed at him at 90 miles per hour, expanding into cables which bound him from head to toe.

Richie had gone from a scrawny nerd to having arms worthy of a World Series MVP in the matter of a few short years. All that working out had been to keep up with Static and to be strong enough –good enough- to stand on his own. He never tried out for baseball, partly because it would draw too much attention to him (better to keep up the secret identity of puny geek) and partly because it would make his father TOO happy to see his son have a sudden interest in sports beyond casually shooting hoops with Virgil at the community center.

Gear zipped down the side of the building as quick as he'd thrown the device. He came to a skidding stop then straddled the well-muscled redhead. Behind the green visor of his helmet, there was a mischievous glint in his eye. "Boyfriend's out of town, but you'll do. The body's not bad. Can't say I'm fond of your face, or getting singed by those fire-fists of yours. A paper bag and some oven mitts should fix that."

Hotstreak's mouth hung agape. He was thoroughly horrified. "F*** you… you… YOU PERVERT!"

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Gear cackled _evilly_.

"That's NOT how we interrogate the suspects," a female voice scolded from above. She-bang swung down from a flagpole, landing as perfectly as an Olympic gymnast beside the two young men on the sidewalk.

"I was only kidding," Gear got up to face her, dusting off his knees. "Besides, you threw him out of his pants once. Hypocrite."

"Into a fountain… to extinguish the flames… and for comedy," she countered.

"It was funny to me."

"I heard," she shot him a disapproving look.

"What?"

"We need to talk."

They made a call to police for pick-up (of the incapacitated Hotstreak) then found a nice flat rooftop to sit on and have a private chat. They watched the clouds roll by for an awkward silence for several minutes.

"A bunny," he gazed upwards.

"A _BUNNY _?"

"And that's the Titanic," he pointed

"You really have lost it."

"You never found shapes in the clouds when you were a kid?"

"My parents were scientists that made me in a lab then stole me away from it. I didn't get to play the games other kids did."

"Oh... right. Yeah."

More awkward silence.

"You miss him," She-bang accused. "You haven't been yourself. The longer he's gone, the weirder you get. I'm worried about you."

"You don't know this, but I had a persona before this. 'Push'. It was only temporary... the power wore off. I told Static he could retire; I was the new Hero in town. Now, years later, my powers are permanent and I have Dakota all to myself. If I need help, I can ask you on your free-time. Who needs him? He was holding me back."

"Whoo," she waved her hand in front of her nose, "I can smell the bullsh** from here. Layin' it on thick."

He turned to glare at her. She was right.

"You might have to accept that fact he left...or could be dead."

"No. Never."

"OK. What would you do if he came back tomorrow? _Honestly_."

"Honestly? I wouldn't know whether to EMBRACE him or PUNCH him. Happy to see him again... but peeved he up and abandoned me."

"Kiss him then slap him." She winked, her last bit of advice before she bounced off over buildings.

**MEANWHILE, AT THE DARK SIDE CLUB**

Fading in and out of consciousness for the past two months, Static nonetheless had come to learn a bit more about his predicament. He was at a place called "The Dark Side Club" that was originally run by Boss Darkside, the one he had seen talking to Clock King. Boss Darkside was dead now, though how or when this happened, he wasn't sure. The club was now run by a committee, including Chairman Vundabaar: the one who performed a Caesar act in the arena giving the thumbs up or down, Desaad: a sleazy used-car-salesman looking guy with slicked back hair and a cheap suit, Steppenwulf (no relation to the band): a thin man with a goatee, a nameless bald black woman with a blindfold style eye mask who wore a catsuit, and Bernadeth: a woman scientist who's looks and mannerisms reminded him of Agent Skully from the X-files.

Their aim was to become "Dark Gods". The details of this plan he was unclear on. It somehow involved the arena, gathering as many young metahumans as they could, drugging them up, hypnotizing them, and having them fight eachother, sometimes to the death. It could be that as villains, this removed the future generation of heroes that would stand in their way. Or maybe their souls or bodies were being sacrificed for some reason. What was clear that the one being paid to do the gathering was Clock King. He put together the 'Terror Titans' team and they in turn would ambush whichever teen in the country he pointed them towards.

That's right, in addition to being a strange cult this was also a money-making operation. The idly wealthy, villains, and other morally bankrupt would pay an entrance fee and proceed to bet on the contestants. The more brutal the match, the happier they were. They even went so far as to sell the costumes of those that died during a fight as souvenirs.

Kids weren't the only ones who died during matches. Granny Goodness, the one originally in charge of programming was also slain. Bernadeth (the woman scientist who looked like Scully) was the one who took over for her. He knew from whispers from those who passed by his cell door. An "uncontrollable metahuman" was responsible, it happened in the ring, and for all he knew it could have been him.

Static was (emphasis: WAS) the champion. To be more precise, Static's body under the programming to pummel whatever was put in front of him after a trigger word was whispered in his ear WAS the champion. He drew the biggest crowds, inspired the biggest bets, and generated the biggest buzz. No one defeated him in a brawl.

Their brainwashing worked well… TOO WELL. His electrical powers had been an asset to him, burning through any past attempts to gas or drug him. So they Darkside Club had to ramp up the doses and subliminal suggestions and unleashed all of that mad fury into one spot.

"Knock 'em dead, champ," one of the hired goon slapped him on the back as he was escorted up the stairs from the lower levels into the arena. That was a major mistake. 'Em is slang for THEM (plural), which meant he had multiple targets.

His intended opponent was Hardrock whose body was exactly as the name implies- a hulking beast made of solid rock. Rocky's only vulnerable spots were the mouth and the eyes. He shot off shards of stone at Static but Static swooped to the side, avoiding every one. Hardrock was a minor, yet annoying, distraction.

A useful set of props were on the otherwise barren playing field. Static used them to his advantage. *_CLANG! Grunt, stumble.* *CLANG! Grunt, stumble.* *CLANG!* Grunt, stumble. CLANG!*_ Even the mightiest of warriors can only take so many empty oil barrels to the face. With Hardrock dizzy, he returned to his main objective.

Around himself, Static formed an electric sphere. A BZZZZT sound filled his ears, and soon the whole space. All equipment went haywire, the announcer's voice distorted. Around and around, tendrils of charged air swirled, glowing brighter by the second. Soon, all that was visible of him was a crackling ball of lightning. The spectators stared upwards in awe and anticipation. With a snap, the circle burst outward. SHA-POW. The crowd was caught in the wave…ELECTROCUTED. The weaker suffered heart attacks. Many did not recover.

Should he regret it or not? He wasn't in his right mind. It was a feeling not a premeditated plan, a severe all-encompassing NEED to obliterate. And it's not like they were good people… they took joy out of watching live-action snuff without remorse. They deserved it. Or was that the drugs talking?

Hardrock stopped him, a bit too late, hitting him in back of the head with a rock. Static swayed, falling to the ground like a leaf in autumn.

They shot enough tranquilizers into him to keep an elephant slumbering for a week, dragged him off the field, and shut him in the cell without any plans to use him again in the near future.

He was so lonely, so confused, so crushed.

Virgil wanted to see the familiar face of his friend, see him look in the window of the door and free him, just like the time Richie had taken his newly invented rocket skates for a test run to rescue him from Ebon. _HELP ME_. At the same time, he was relieved Richie wasn't here. Madelyn and Brainiac invoked enough trauma. _I don't think he could take mind control a third time._ _If I was forced to fight him, hurt him, KILL him… I couldn't deal. Could. Not. Deal._

_Be safe, Rich._

He wondered if they would even want Richie. Word was that Robin was rejected. The Darkside Club coveted metahumans with physical manifestations of their powers… quick thinkers and handy gadgets wouldn't do.

There had been only one capture who had escaped: Miss Martian. He didn't know much about her other than that she had green skin and was affiliated with the Teen Titans. She had taken one other one with her. She'd left with the promise to return and free the rest. He prayed that she would return WITH REINFORCEMENTS. He prayed every night.

Not that he could tell night from day where he was, in this cell. It was all the same. They'd provided him with a bed which he rarely moved from. They'd kept him virtually comatose since THE INCIDIENT. Another TV was put in the cell. On mute. In the brief moments when he wasn't out cold, he could catch a broadcast of a match. One night (or day)'s would change the way the Dark Side club was run.

Fever VS. Ravager. Fever was still in the same clothes she wore back when he fought her (_a tight yellow belly shirt, a pair or cargo pants, sneakers, and red gloves_)… they all were in the same clothes since their arrival. They weren't granted the luxury of a bath, adding to the misery of their incarceration. Ravager was someone he hadn't seen compete before, thought the colors of her costume were vaguely familiar. Orange boots and gloves with oversized soft cloth cuffs, a shiny blue bodysuit with patches of metal scaling (much like a knight would wear between their armor only in a literal fish scale pattern), and a do-rag that covered everything above her nose that was half dark blue and orange with only a single white lens for the eye on the orange side. Her straight white hair stuck out from under the rag and spilled down to her back, yet she was visibly NOT an old woman. She looked to be in excellent shape. She wielded a long sword in each hand.

The mask and boots stood out the most… where had he seen that style…? Then it dawned on him: Deathstroke. He'd read all about Deathstroke, aka Slade Wilson, infamous assassin for hire and long time enemy of the Teen Titans. Was he involved in this Terror Titan business? He had formed alternates to the Titans before with villainous teens. What relation was Ravager to him? Did this make her a villain or a hero?

Only heroes were put in the ring, so she had to be a hero.

Fever formed balls of fire over her red gloves. The Bleach-blonde short haired Chinese girl didn't even get a chance to attack. With one flying kick from Ravager to the face, the match was over. Chairman Vundabaar gave the thumbs down. Though Virgil couldn't hear them, he knew the crowd was chanting "KILL KILL KILL." Ravager stabbed her blades… into the ground on either side of Fever's head. She then flipped Chairman Vundabaar off. A clear act of defiance… had the mind-control wore off… or was she never under it to begin with?

Clock King stepped into the ring, discussing something with Ravager. While he was doing this, two men seemingly made of silver in black formalwear (androids, maybe) walked over to Fever, carrying sawed-off shotguns. With one blow to the back of the skull, she was dead.

He couldn't watch any more after that. He turned his head to the side, preferring to stare at the wall.

Fever had been the champion. They'd named 'Fever Fridays' after her, yet they'd bored of her. How long would it be until they bored of him, also a former champion? They'd kept him locked down here, narcoleptic, for too long. He was certain the question was not IF they would come to finish them off, but WHEN.

"Dunno if you can see or hear me up in Heaven, Moms, but it looks like I might be joining you soon… or do I get to go to Heaven after this, after I… "

Throughout this whole ordeal, UNTIL NOW, he'd managed not to cry. But that… that did it.

Author's note 4: _In the comic "Milestone Forever #2" Hotstreak calls Richie (Rick) a pervert out of nowhere for no good reason. I thought I'd give him a reason._

_Sorry for the character overload. They were all either from the Static cartoon or Teen Titans related comics, so… yeah._

_Sorry this is so depressing so far._

_To be continued in chapter 5. _


	5. Chapter 5

Title: While You Were Gone  
Author: Xilvrin***  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: none for this chapter  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock or DC comics, they belong to their specific creators/DC/Warner Bros. I make no profit, this is only fanfic for fun.

***EXTRA DISCLAIMER: Huge chunks of dialogue were taken directly from the Terror Titans comic for Virgil's part of this chapter. I will tell you which at the end. So all credit for that goes to SEAN MCKEEVER, the writer of that comic. (_Please do go buy the __Terror Titans graphic novel__, you can easily find it at bookselling sites like _)

**Chapter 5**

DAKOTA HIGH SCHOOL, 4TH PERIOD

Richie frowned at the empty desk in front of him. Virgil was meant to be there, turning to look at him, elbow propped on the top of the chair backing, big bright smile across his face. Richie traced the backing with the dried-up eraser of an old chewed-on number 2 pencil. It was the rare seat that wasn't covered in graffiti or with gum wads jammed into its corners. '_Where are you? Why aren't you HERE?_'

English was the one class Virgil had better grades the super-genius in... Richie's mind was hardwired for the math and sciences, not poetry.

The teacher was convinced that his straight-A student had dropped out. "And I assume Mr. Hawkins continues to suffer from senior-itis?" He snarked over the common problem of 12th graders no longer putting effort into their schoolwork with graduation around the corner.

Richie spoke up, "That makes no sense. The suffix -ITIS means 'inflammation of' ... senioritis would be inflammation of the senior, not avoidance of educational duties.

"The second definition is '_a weariness of a preoccupation with; used in nonce words'_, hence Mr. Hawkin's malaise over his final year of public schooling. It's sufficient for Webster's dictionary, not for you?" the educator tapped his pointer on his palm.

Richie held one finger to his ear and whispered, "Backpack. Definition. 'Nonce Word'. The communication/surveillance robot relayed the message remotely to a tiny hearing aid like device he'd installed in his earring (one of the many innovations he'd come up with in his Virgil-less free-time). This way he could get answers or pick up police radio transmissions to rush of, change into costume, and save the day. Or... if need be... best his teachers. It wasn't REALLY cheating, he figured, as he'd invented backpack with his advanced brain and went on to use it as an extended set of senses- a second brain outside his body. "Ah," he said outloud, "but a NONCE WORD is a word coined for a singular occasion, not an officially recognized word from the dictionary."

"Perhaps YOU would like to teach the class today."

"All right, I WILL," the dweeby teen stood up and sauntered over to the chalkboard.

The balding man with a bad combover sat down in his office chair, crossing his arms. "Impress me."

'Anything to take my mind off Virgil,' Richie thought, chewing on his lower lip. He prepared to lead the class in discussion on the novel they were reading with help of the outline and notes the stuffy teacher left on his desk.

**DARK SIDE CLUB**

They did eventually come for Static. He didn't know how much time has passed between Fever's last hurrah and now. His body was limp, resigned to his fate. The silver-men dragged him off to Bernadeth's lab: a library-like room in the Clock King's pocket dimension.

The cobalt blue round room brought his thoughts back to the clock tower in Dakota. Clock tower themed columns held the high ceiling up, their faces all pointing to three o'clock just like the lenses of the clock King's glasses. The middle of the room was sunken area taken up a large heavy bronze gear-shaped table, on top of which were two glass cylinders full of a bubbling bubble-gum pink liquid. Tubes from these cylinders connected to 70's-style headphones worn by the blankly staring mutant teens. They sat in chairs with gear-shaped backings with gear-shaped restrains on their wrists. They spewed the regular nonsense: "Chaos is order", "Violence is beauty", "Sacrifice is honor", "Death is release".

Gear... glasses... clocktower... brainwashed...

"Rich," he mumbled.

"Yes, you'll make us very rich," Bernadeth replied coldly, putting her hand to her chin.

**THAT NIGHT**

"Ladies! Gentlemen! Everyone Else! Welcome tot he Darkside Club!" the loudspeaker announced. The people in the stands cheered. "We have an epic showdown for you tonight! Breaking from the tournament for this one-time special megabout is our newest crowd favorite- three time winner RAVAGER!" The white haired young woman in question did her stretches with a bland expression on her ruby red lips. She rolled her head from side to side, "...facing down the one meta no one thought they'd see gain... the reigning DarkSide champion", twisted her back this way and that, "Here he comes!", and went down on one knee then the other, "This is it folks! ...It's the Ruthless Ravager...". She paid the announcer little attention as he rambled on, only getting up when the door on the far side of the arena began to raise. "Versus the shocking STATIC!"

She drew both swords from their scabbards strapped to her back. He flew in, crouched on his disc, fists clenched and crackling with light. She took a fighting stance. He unleashed half of his pent-up fury from one hand. The ground exploded beneath her, debris rocketing into the air. KZZHT! His next attack actually shattered one of her blades. The shards ended up lodged into her chainmail and head covering. She screamed in pain, falling to her side.

"UP 'TIL NOW, RAVAGER'S PRECOGNITION HAS KEPT HER JUST BARELY A STEP AHEAD OF STATIC... BUT THE FUTURE'S NOT LOOKING QUITE SO CERTAIN ANYMORE FOR OUR NEWEST FEMME FATALE!"

"God, I wish they'd toss the emcee in here," she groaned.

She had only seconds before Static expelled both handfuls of electricity to the ground again and again. She did her best to backflip out of the way, narrowly missing the crooked tendrils of light around her. "WHAT AGILITY FOLKS! AND YET-" She made it all the way to the upper half of the curved stadium wall. She pushed back off it much like a swimmer doing laps. She launched herself toward her opponent. "WHOA, SHE'S GOING FOR IT! THIS COULD BE THE END!"

Her orange gloved fist connected with his cheek but AT THE SAME TIME his electrified fist connected with her knee. KZZZ-ZAKKKT! He was knocked off his disc while she was thrown several feet, skidding in painfully face-first.

"AND RAVAGER'S DOWN!"

Unlucky for her, Static got to his feet first.

"HOW ABOUT SOME DARK SIDE CLUB SIZED APPLAUSE FOR-" The announcer was ready to call the match but upon further observation of the lit-up ring, he stammered, "WAIT...WHAT'S HE-? OH NO, NOT AGAIN!"

They'd pumped him so full of drugs, the hypnotized Static couldn't help himself. "Kill...KILL!"

"He's *SKRKK SLRR* ...all the juice *SKRAKT RAKT* WHOLE PLACE *SKRRRRRKT* EVERYONE PLEAZZZZ *ZKRTKT*" the loudspeakers were on the fritz.

Static was in the mindset to destroy everyone and everything around him. Ravager tried to talk him down. "Take it easy now, guy... there's no need to go off and kill all those people..." as if she had room to talk. Back when her father was manipulating her (yes, Slade was her father) she had done her share of killing and maiming of badguys. It was partially that which brought her here... not quite fitting in anywhere else, skating a fine line between... not quite a villain, not quite a hero.

The crowd looked up nervously at the streams of neon blue dancing overhead.

For a moment, he snapped out of it. "Huh?" he turned his head. "This again?" It was short-lived, as awareness was replaced with anger. "I SWEAR I TOLD YOU MORONS," he bathed himself in pure white light, deciding to bring down the house anyway. "YOU. CAN'T. CONTROL. ME!"

"Fire! Do it now!" Desaad, the DarkSide club chairman that looked like a used car salesman, instructed the silver men with tranquilizer guns. Multiple darts were shot into static's arm and neck.

"No... y'can't..." he fell.

Ravager sat crosslegged by the unconscious teen boy, catching her breath. This was in no way a fair fight, she thought. Their abilities didn't match up. She shook her fist at where the Clock King watched behind protective layers of bulletproof glass in his VIP box. She'd have words with him later.

**BACK IN HIS CELL**

More days, possibly weeks, passed. He was once again locked up and sedated in his room.

One day or night there was more commotion than usual. Doors were being flung open. Including his. The snowy-locked yet young woman was in his room.

"It's you," he croaked. Ravager.

"JAILBREAK!" There was a fire in her one blue eye (the other being concealed, pirate-style).

"Why? Whose side are you on?" He had to wonder as she disconnected the tubes he was hooked up to and helped him sit up.

"Same side I've always been. My own." She smirked. She withdrew a small object from her pocket: an inhaler. "Here."

"I don't have asthma."

"It's adrenaline. You'll need to wake up fast if you feel like taking the chairmen on AND escaping."

"I haven't been given a lot of reasons to trust folk 'round here."

"Suit yourself."

"You don't care either way, eh?"

"Not really."

He considered this. He decided to take it. One breath full was like ten cups of coffee. He was awake now for sure.

"We're under L.A. They'll be trying to get out through the lowest tunnels. Go to the end of the hall, turn right, another right... look for the shortest curved archway with pipes overhead and no lights. That's where the rats will be running."

"Thanks... but... what about Clock King and the Terror Titans?"

"They're MY Prey," she said with a scowl and a tone that let him know she was not to be trifled with.

"Good luck with that," he waved her off and set about in the opposite direction from where she was going.

Their panicked footfalls reached his ears soon enough. He was standing still. They were heading straight for him.

A familiar man in a cheap olive green suit took the lead. "He ruined it! That fool has ruined everything!"

"We're almost to the sewers." The bald dark skinned woman in a catsuit and mask said behind him. "We'll get away, Desaad. We'll get away and start again."

Static blocked the way, eyes aglow, juggling lightning. "Y'know, my head's a little fuzzy still... but I could SWEAR you said something unbelievably DUMB."

Bernadeth and the two silver men were behind Desadd and the nameless woman. All were speechless.

"Surprised to see me, I guess, huh? Understandable, what with all the JUNK you had me on."

Their eyes went wide in fear.

"Hey, you guys ever been TASERED before?" he jumped on his disk, flying over them, zapping them with enough juice to leave them twitching and drooling. "Cause that's just a tickle." With that, he was off, not wanting to spend one more second in this place than he had to.

"Nuhhh," Bernadeth moaned.

"Hey, don't thank me," Static said to the pile of baddies behind him, "Thank the chick who busted me out, woke me up, and told me the pass to head you all off at. You'll recognize her real easy. She's got white hair and an eyepatch."

He passed by the entrance to the ring. The ceiling had fallen in. Groups of teens were in a brutal fight. This was not for an audience; the seats were empty. Among the fray he spotted a redhaired, GREEN skinned girl in a white shirt, red suspenders, blue skirt, long blue cape, white gloves and blue boots. Miss Martian had kept good on her promise... she'd come back. The team of former DarkSide Club contestants were tangling the Terror Titans. They were winning but the Terrors were putting up a surpassingly tough fight.

Static joined the melee in progress. "Hey, Dreadbolt!" He singled out the muscular Terror Titan in navy and gold. "Meet lightning bolt!"

With a few injuries, but no casualties, they finally put a stop to the tenacious buggers. Persuader (axe girl), Copperhead (snake man) and Dread Bolt were back to back to back, tied together and hands bounds by a flattened and twisted length of pipe. Disruptor was missing but she hadn't gotten away... according to them Clock King had killed her himself. One of the newly freed metahumans went on a quick search for her body and found a charred corpse, just as they had described. What a way to go... even if she was an evil b**ch.

When it was all over Static walked over to his new favorite alien and extended his hand. She shook it and gave him a friendly smile. "Miss Martian? Name's Static. Not to gush, but I'm a big fan. You and the rest of the Titans. Uhh, anyway, thing I wanted to know is, I K. most of the DarkSide Club dudes, but... what happens now?"

"We go back to Titans Tower. I think you'll all want a bit of rest. We can sort it out from there"

"The REAL Teen Titans this time, right?"

She turned her head to the side like a confused puppy for a second. "Yes, the real ones."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, OK... I'm gonna have faith in you on that one."

"I won't let you down." another friendly smile, and then they began their short travel to San Francisco.

-  
Author's note 5: _This does it for Terror Titans. The portions of dialogue copied are everything from the Static Vs. Ravager fight, including a few sound effects. (_Ravager freeing Static was alluded to, but not shown, I wrote the scene dialogue for that_). Static confronting the DarkSide club chairmen was taken from the comic (_changed_ "my noodles a little fuzzy" _to_ "my heads still a little fuzzy" _because the former just doesn't sound right!)_. Half of what Static says to Miss Martian (from "Miss Martian?" _up till _"What now?")._


End file.
